


Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

by ampersand_235



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Violence, Domestic Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:16:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5060773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ampersand_235/pseuds/ampersand_235
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor tries to step into a domestic dispute, but Sansa can handle herself. Modern AU. Sansa is dangerous in more ways than one ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Tw: Violence against women. Violence in general. Past sexual assault.
> 
> This is my first fic, but I would love to hear your thoughts!

The girl was still sitting at the end of the bar, alone. Sandor had watched all night as pretty boy after pretty boy had come up to demand her attentions, no doubt their egos wanted to see her sad expression turned into a glowing smile, just for them. She'd turned them all away though, in her delicate way. A soft chuckle, a gentle touch to her chest, a polite shake of her head, like she was fucking honored that they approached her but she “simply couldn't handle any conversation right now.” Her eyes gleamed as she feigned a coy, “maybe later” promise. That's probably why all those cunts let her alone. She was dripping in future promises. Or maybe she was just admitting she had a boyfriend and her flirty smile was apologetic? Well, if she had a boyfriend, he certainly wasn't here. _It's not my bloody business though, is it?_ Sandor thought to himself in irritation.

What was she doing here then? This was a dodgy part of town, even if the club itself was pretty nice. She clearly came from money, perfect posture, expensive necklace draped around her pretty neck. She wasn’t dancing. And she didn't look like she'd been dragged out with friends or some date, but she also didn’t look like she wanted to be here. _You and me both, sweetheart._ She'd been nursing a strawberry daiquiri that Bronn gave her for at least an hour, perched in the same goddamn place. It was really just sugary fruit-flavored slush at this point, and she'd essentially stopped drinking it. It was only when she seemed to scan the room that she pressed her lips to the top of the straw, looking bored as a teenager in church, like she was trying to blend in, not get noticed.

Like she wasn't going to get noticed. _Hah,_ Sandor grumbled to himself as he turned his attention back to the bar he was wiping down, prettiest girl in the room was going to get noticed. Seriously, this girl was breathtaking. Her lips, first of all, drew his attention every time she pressed them to her straw. Full, soft-looking perfect lips. He wondered what they’d feel like pressed against his, but the burned side of his mouth twitched at the thought. _You’re a bloody idiot like the rest of them._ Her lips weren’t the only captivating things about her though. Long auburn hair that fell in loose waves down her back, slim but curvy figure, long shapely legs, beautiful pale skin spattered in sweet, innocent freckles, and huge eyes the color of an icy ocean reflecting a perfectly clear sky, lined in black. Beautiful and sad. She was haunting.

He realized he was lost in thought when Bronn bumped him on the shoulder, “I’m taking 15, you good?”

“Yeah,” Sandor coughed out, clearing his throat with the word.

“Hey, check out sad strawberry Barbie,” Bronn said, nodding his head at the redhead at the end of the bar. _Oh, I have been._ “She’s been there for at least an hour, totally slumming it, not talking to anyone… maybe see if she wants a fresh daiquiri? There’s no way that sludge is still pleasant to drink, and she tipped like 10 bucks, dude.” Sandor snorted.

“I’ll give her a whisky,” Sandor joked. “Nobody needs an icy drink when it’s 2 degrees below outside.”

“Hah! Alright, brother. Pretty, girly, rich? That one doesn’t drink anything but daiquiris and cosmos, but if you don’t want 10 bucks, you go right ahead and offer her some Jack… then again, maybe she tipped me like that ‘cause she’s got the hots for me, huh?” And he cackled as Sandor shoved him toward the door and rolled his eyes.

He was working up the indifference to approach her when he suddenly noticed her sit up straighter, eyes flitting to the room’s entrance. For a second, just a second, Sandor thought he saw fear in her eyes, but when he tried to follow her gaze to the danger and looked back, whatever he thought he saw was gone. Her face was a mask of boredom; the only tell was her lips pressed lazily to the straw. He knew she was only pretending to drink.

He scanned the room again. _What did you see? What are you afraid of? And why have you been sitting there, out of place, for a goddamn hour?_ And that’s when he saw a tall, mean-looking man making his way toward her. Broad of shoulder, thick armed, big. Guy looked military. _Not as big as me though,_ Sandor thought as he moved closer to her end of the bar, pretending to rearrange the glasses set on the back counter. He let his eyes slide quickly to the man, moving like a snake toward the girl, and a small knot began forming in his gut. The man wore the cruelest, smuggest smile. It radiated sadism and harm. And Sandor knew what that looked like… as much as his face knew what it felt like. He shifted his gaze to the girl but, while her hand shook, she didn’t seem to be paying attention.

Turning to her, he took another few steps and leaned his elbows against the bar, “Hey, you in some kind of trouble?”

She startled, like she hadn’t noticed him there, eyes widening briefly as she looked upon his face. _What were you expecting, you dumb, ugly bastard._ Her eyes swept over his scars, but then she looked into his eyes like she was trying to read his soul. What is she thinking? The piercing icy blue of her eyes were filled with… something… something fiery, but Sandor couldn’t tell what it was; it was buried too deep.

She shook her head then, and laughed, drawing his attention back to her whole face, it was sweet, airy, and… dismissive?

“Are you my knight in shining armor?” _What? … Oh, sarcasm._ Yeah, definitely dismissive. Alright, fine, this little bird could get herself out of her own damn trouble.

“Whatever,” he grumbled as he pushed his forearms off the bar, rolling his eyes. He reached for the glass of melted daiquiri and turned away. _Bitch._

The man with the mean smile made his way to her as Sandor walked away. “Trant,” he thought he heard the girl say, but he couldn’t quite hear anymore. _Guess she does have a boyfriend._ At the other end of the bar some asshole, who’d been obnoxious all night, was impatiently waving money at him. He watched the strange couple suspiciously as he pulled the tap, letting the beer pour down the inside of the glass. The cruel-looking man leaned over her, reaching for the delicate little wrist she had resting on the bar. A few people standing nearby them seemed to notice and moved away, ignoring the obvious abuse.

“Uhh, that’s not the one I wanted,” he barely heard the man in front of him talking.

“Yeah, well we’re out of King’s Lager.”

“But I saw that other guy–”

“Oh fuck off, you cunt,” he growled, “before I drag you out of here myself.” The man’s eyes widened and he ducked back into the crowd, leaving his money on the counter. The corner of Sandor’s mouth lifted, lips pulled into a half-smile. One that was quickly wiped off his face when the auburn-haired girl made to slip off her stool and shove the man towering over her away. And the cruel man didn’t like it. In seconds he had her arm twisted behind her back and pinned against the wall beside them. With a hand laid across her throat and his whole body pressing the length of her, he seemed to be whispering threateningly in her ear.

“Hey!” Sandor barked, quick strides making nothing of the distance to their end of the bar. The man turned away from the girl to size Sandor up, large rough hand still crushing one of her wrists. Sandor could see the bruises forming.

“This is our business, dog. Keep your nose out of it,” the tone of Trant’s voice reminding him of Gregor’s. Sandor turned his attention to the girl’s face, looking for a contradiction. But he didn’t get one. She was ignoring him, looking at the ceiling. Was she… irritated? What the actual fuck? Bloody stupid girl. He wanted to roar at her as much as he wanted to pummel the monster making ugly purple marks on her pretty arm.

“Get the fuck out of my bloody club then,” he growled, then paused. “And you’re not welcome back. Neither of you!”

“With pleasure,” the man hissed, smiling. He pressed his face into the side of the girl’s neck, smelling her hair. He shoved her body slightly, forcing her head to knock back into the wall. She winced. “Don’t worry, she won’t be coming back.” With that he yanked her forward away from the bar and dragged her through the crowd.

 _What the fuck?_ Sandor was furious. And confused. And slightly panicked. He slammed his fists down on the bar, and the few passive bystanders who had ignored the domestic “dispute” got up and moved away, uncomfortable. _Bloody fucking cowards._

Sandor followed her auburn waves through the crowd with his eyes until he lost her through the doorway. He paced up and down behind the bar, filling a few drink orders to calm his mind. _I should follow her. Maybe she doesn’t know what she’s in for, but it’s worse then she imagines, that’s for sure... Ughh! Stupid, spoiled bitch. Fine, let her get what’s coming. She deserves it... No, what’s wrong with you?! Of course the little bird doesn’t deserve it. No woman deserves that, bad attitude or not... She doesn’t know what that guy is capable of or she wouldn’t have gone with him... Ugh, why do you care? Stupid ungrateful girl practically glared at you for asking if she was okay! And she definitely didn’t want your help at the end either... Still, maybe she wants it now. Who knows what’s happening to her._ A minute later, Bronn sauntered back in, pausing with a look at Sandor’s face, “whoa, buddy, who –“

“I’m taking 15,” he growled as he launched through the storage room toward the back door.


	2. Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sorry too, Joff... that our last goodbye wasn't this sweet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Mentions of violence against women. Blood and violence. Assassination.

Chapter 2: Revenge

_*4 Years Ago*_

“Where is she?!” Joffrey was screeching like a banshee. Sansa could hear his face turning red, the spit flying from his wormy lips. “I want that bitch back here now! If she tried to run from me, I’m going to kill her. Nobody leaves Joffrey Baratheon!”

Sansa could hear Cersei’s attempts to calm him, “Of course she hasn’t run, Joffrey. It’s only been a few hours. I’m sure there’s an explanation,” but that only made her more scared. Cersei never wasted any effort on Sansa’s account. A queen of icy countenance and rolled eyes, dismissive insults, and a nasty superiority complex, Joffrey’s mother had silently ignored the abuse since the beginning. She’d looked down at her hand, bored, examining her perfectly manicured nails, as Joff stood over his fiancé and dragged her across the room by her hair. She’d passed right by doorways, barely pausing to watch as the bodyguards beat the girl at Joffrey’s command, never said a thing. The one time Cersei had even seemed to disapprove was the morning she looked up from her breakfast to see Sansa meekly looking down at her hands, with blackened eyes and a split lip. Apparently the marks Joffrey left on Sansa’s pretty face would harm the family’s reputation. “I like her pretty anyway,” Joffrey had shrugged, monster that he was. _If Cersei is trying to calm him down, he really is going to kill me if he finds me._

Sansa prayed for hours, twisted and flattened under the false bottom of a chest in the Lannister summer home’s large garden shed.

_Please holy gods hear my prayers. Let me escape here with my life. Let Mr. Baelish’s plan work, and let Joffrey lose interest in hunting me down. Please. Please, I just want to live again. Free from his torment. I can’t keep on as his toy anymore. I’ll give you anything. Just let me get away from this terrible place. I won’t survive another day this scared._

Her heart stopped every time she heard footsteps, the guards searching the grounds for her. Most of them would be in town at this point, checking the bus station almost exclusively used by the community’s commuting “help,” those that didn’t live in-house anyway, and stopping cars on the road filled with lost tourists wanting a view of the beautiful lakeside mansions.

It was pretty obvious she’d run by now, and the waiting was getting scarier; there was no way she could turn back and live.

Sansa tried to guess the time. She’d excused herself after the luncheon with Joffrey’s grandfather around 3pm, saying she needed to start getting ready for the rehearsal dinner. Once in her room, she’d immediately grabbed her small backpack and filled it with some basics and a notebook with friends’ and family’s contact information, and darted out the doors to the back lawn as quickly and quietly as possible. The limousine drivers and more family, Joffrey’s uncles, had just arrived, drawing most of the family present to the front of the house. Cersei and Joffrey each had a bodyguard, but they’d be with their respective family member out front, and Robert and his guard’s flight didn’t arrive until tomorrow, so Sansa had just had to avoid the two guards that she, Myrcella, and Tommen shared: Meryn Trant and Arys Oakheart. Most of the help, the regular cook, the summer housekeeper, and Tommen’s nanny would probably lie for her if they saw her, but Sansa couldn’t risk it. And she didn’t want to put them in that position either.

As she skirted around the pool, she’d heard Tommen’s voice approaching from around the side of the house, “When I get married to Sansa, I don’t want to wear a tie. I’m going to wear my Spiderman shirt.” _Bless that little soul._ In a panic, Sansa had crouched behind the deck chairs and waited for at least 15 minutes for Oakheart to fully turn his back. _If I can make it behind the wedding tent, I could get to the shed without anyone seeing._ And she had.

It must have been almost two hours before anyone noticed her absence. She should have been getting in the limo with Joffrey to be taken to their rehearsal dinner, but of course, she wasn’t, and suddenly everyone realized she hadn’t been seen since lunch. Cersei noticed first and tried to locate her quietly, not wanting her father to be witness to her son’s reactions, but when Joffrey began asking where she was, it was not long before Tywin, and everyone else in the household, was aware of Sansa’s absence, and more than one of them grateful not to be in her shoes.

Since Joffrey’s screaming began, and the most terrifying moments of her waiting with it, Sansa guessed it had been another 4 hours. _6 hours I’ve spent like a contortionist in this box!_ The rehearsal dinner would be over by now, if it hadn’t been cancelled on account of a missing bride, and Cersei and Tywin would be deciding what to do about the wedding.

 _Please, please let them cancel it,_ Sansa prayed. _If I have to spend all of tomorrow in this box I will die._ Mr. Baelish assured her the Lannister-Baratheons would cancel the wedding. They would make up some lie about her falling ill or some emergency and contact their guests. The tent, the tables and chairs, the catering supplies, and the flowers would all get packed up and taken away, and with them, Sansa. She began to panic. _But what if they find me? What if they don’t cancel? What if Dontos can’t get to me in time? Oh gods, I’m betting my life on this plan and everything is so up to chance!_

But Petyr Baelish didn’t leave things up to chance, so a few hours later, Sansa felt herself being lifted, and she knew she was on her way to somewhere safe from Joffrey… and unknown to herself.

 

_*Present Day*_

The cold air whipped at his face as he pushed through the door into the alley. It was darker than Sandor had expected. Sunset was early in winter, but usually there was a light on outside the club’s side door, and today, there wasn’t. Confused, Sandor looked up to see the bulb had been smashed, glass crunched under his boots. _Fucking hells… that wasn’t an accident. What the fuck is going on?_ Sandor looked toward the dumpsters at the back of the alley, but he could only see the dumpsters, shrouded in shadow and lit only by the moon. Still, voices reached him through the darkness. _The narrow alley by the fire escape._

Sandor was making his way toward the alley as quietly as he could, when his ears were assaulted by two gunshots, ricocheting off the brick walls around him. _NO!_ He sprinted toward the sound to someone screaming.

“Holy fucking shit! … No, please! I, please, I’ll do anything! I-I’m sorry! Oh gods wait! Wait! Sa-Sansa!” The begging cut off suddenly, replaced by a hitched breath and whimpering.

“I’m sorry too, Joff… that our last goodbye wasn’t this sweet.”

Sandor rounded the corner as another shot rang out, and watched as the silhouette of a man’s skinny body slide down the brick wall as it crumpled, gun still pressed under its chin. Sandor stared in silence as the woman’s silhouette lowered its arm and looked around. There were two other bodies, much larger than the boy he’d just seen murdered in cold blood, on the ground at her feet, lying in blood-darkened snow. She dropped the gun by one of the bodies and turned, touching her hand to her abdomen. She removed her hand to inspect it, opening and closing her palm. When she dropped to her knees, Sandor came to again and ran towards her. _Holy fucking shit!_ She raised her eyes to him as she collapsed and fell unconscious.


End file.
